


Red LED Redemption

by fantastic



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Fanfic, Crack, Low quality, M/M, No Beta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 11:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16722330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantastic/pseuds/fantastic
Summary: Really, the revolver should have given it away.





	Red LED Redemption

It’s a natural sort of progression.

Sex, that is.

Connor has since had time to consume television and literature and all the reused contrivances therein, and so when Hank pushes him up against the kitchen wall and drags his lips down the facsimile of Connor’s jugular it isn’t terribly surprising. It would have been more shocking if they hadn’t at all; Connor’s LED pulsing in a pleasant blue at the thought of it.

Hank presses a thigh between Connor’s legs, his intent quite clear. He breathes puffs of hot air into the crook of Connor’s neck as his hands fiddle with the lapels of his jacket, as if asking for a permission that had already been granted.

He leans forward, lips moving to the shell of Connor’s ear, which is no more sensitive than the rest of his body.

“You sure about this?” Hank asks.

“Are you?” Connor shoots back.

Hank snorts and Connor can feel the smile in it. Connor shrugs the jacket from his shoulders and Hank returns to his neck with a heady wet heat, a foreign feel that leaves an electric thrill in its wake. It’s all new, to Connor. Simulations and tests and pre-programmed knowledge can’t prepare him for it - and though his systems grow sluggish and erratic with feedback and warnings, it is not at all unpleasant.

No, it’s quite nice, really.

Hank’s hands move to the buttons of his shirt, an awkward maneuver made all the worse by Hank’s unwillingness to part from Connor’s neck, teeth pulling at too-tight skin. The first button that gives Hank a few seconds of trouble is enough to frustrate him, and with a grunt, Hank tears Connor’s shirt open. Buttons fly to every corner of the kitchen, falling against laminate flooring in plastic  _ plinks _ .

“Christ,” Hank says, trailing palms rough with callouses down Connor’s abdomen. “You feel so real.”

“That’s the point,” Connor says, matter-of-fact.

“Oh yeah?”

Hank smirks, his eyes dark, a wolfish sort of confidence that makes Connor’s core shudder in a split-second stop. Hank presses the flat of his hand between Connor's legs, searching. It's a little unnecessary - the simulation of human arousal is entirely under his control - but the touch is sudden and exciting and so unlike what it might've been, if he were still just a machine.

Connor leans his head back, a useless sigh escaping his exposed throat. He allows his body to react beneath Hank, to give himself a charge of pleasure, unfiltered and unrestrained. Hank’s hand is warm, groping Connor roughly. Liquid heat runs quick through Connor’s veins and pools in his abdomen. It takes no time at all for the artificial sex between his legs to swell and press against his very expensive pair of jeans.

“Jesus,” Hank breathes, as if it were some genuine surprise.

He leans in in to kiss Connor, tonguing his mouth open with more passion than precision. Hank presses closer, grinding his half-hard cock against Connor’s thigh in uneven circles, like he might if he were inside of him, and that--  _ That _ is certainly a thought. Sex is the only plausible result here, of course, but the preconstructed notion of Hank fucking into him like an animal is enough to send Connor gasping for air he does not need.

Hank, perhaps distracted by his own lust, doesn’t think anything of it. He returns to Connor’s neck and licks a long stripe down to his collarbone, teeth sinking into skin where no marks will form.

Connor looks over Hank’s shoulder as he grips the man’s back. It has been some time since he was last in Hank’s home - outside of a professional capacity, that is. It is cleaner and brighter than he remembers. A brand new bed for Sumo lies in the living room, a decades old video game system connected to a converter for the modern TV. The kitchen table is, miraculously, clear of debris, but a quick scan tells Connor it has not been properly cleaned in some time.

“Do you want to do this here?” Connor asks as Hank fiddles with the fly of his jeans.

The implication in Connor’s question is enough to elicit a low groan from Hank. He sighs against Connor’s chest, his grinding against Connor’s thigh coming to a near halt.

“...Bedroom,” Hank says eventually.

It’s relieving, to say the least. That the kitchen table might’ve been under any consideration at all is less than palatable.

Connor pushes Hank away from him and heads to the bedroom. Hank follows immediately, the heat of his body radiating into Connor’s back, his closeness tripping proximity sensors into warning red.

The journey there is a short one. Connor begins to undress immediately, and Hank follows his example. Connor does not have to look over his shoulder to know Hank is watching him.

“Socks or no?” Connor asks coolly.

“Who cares,” Hank says. “Can't wait to fuck you.”

“Then don't.”

Hank takes the advice. He steps forward, grips Connor by the shoulders, and pushes him onto the bed with ease. Divested of clothing, Hank’s stature is still impressive, and the display of effortless strength makes Connor’s circuits catch with artificial arousal.

Connor runs his hands down his sides, down to his thighs, and slowly spreads his legs. He turns his face to the side and presses his cheek against the bed. The sheets are notably clean. So is the rest of the bedroom - the most startling development since Connor’s last visit - but one small change in particular makes him frown.

“Why do you have a portrait of a video game character on your nightstand?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hank mutters.

He climbs on the bed after Connor, his cock hanging heavy against his leg. Even half-hard, it’s impressive. It twitches with interest as Hank gazes down at the sight before him.

Hank barely has time to look at the nightstand before Connor says, “You won’t need lubrication.”

“Uh,” says Hank. “Okay.” 

Disbelief colors his features in the dark of the room but he descends upon Connor all the same. He kisses down Connor’s sternum, to his stomach which is not nearly as soft as a human’s, but has enough give to make Hank smile against him.

He teases Connor, as expected, trailing his lips over the ridge of Connor’s hips, the coarse hair of his beard tickling synthetic skin as Hank leaves his dick untouched. Hank palms his ass, gripping him tightly, fingers creeping closer, closer-- A quick bite at Connor’s hip, a sharp inhale as a finger brushes over an already slick hole.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I told you.”

Hank straightens up and looks down at Connor with great focus. He slips one hand beneath Connor’s knee and pulls his legs further apart, his other hand still teasing at his entrance.

Hank exhales, shakily, and asks, “Still don’t feel pain?”

Connor licks his lips. “No.” He pauses. “No pain.”

Hank curses under his breath and slips a finger inside. It’s effortless; a minor burn accompanies the intrusion, but it is devoid of pain. It does not take long for one to become two, then three, Hank stretching him open on thick fingers, rough and fast, perhaps emboldened by Connor’s lack of pain. It is entirely unnecessary, and Connor considers telling Hank as much; but he sees Hank’s true intent when the man pulls away and rubs the slick over his own cock, loosely jerking himself until he is fully hard.

The anticipation of it makes Connor’s thirium pump flutter as his body temperature spikes. Connor looks to Hank, eyes half-lidded, and raises his hips.

The invitation is not lost on Hank, who grips his hips and pulls him closer, positioning Connor so the blunt tip of his cock prods at his entrance.

“You good?”

“Just do it,” Connor hisses, and Hank does not need to be told twice.

He pushes into Connor with his usual rashness, burying himself inside in one quick thrust. The stretch is enough to force the air from Connor’s lungs, Hank’s thick cock threatening to introduce itself to neighboring biocomponents. It punches a high-pitched keen from Connor’s lips, a sound both human and mechanical but wholly desperate. It is not a sound Connor thought he would ever make, but he makes no effort to stop it and the little gasps that follow as Hank sets a hurried pace, drunk on the lust that twisted between them for months.

It’s good, very good, better than anything Connor could have prepared himself for, better than what his body told him to expect. Hank’s weight above him, the sweat and heat from his body, the feeling of his cockhead pressing deep inside of him, filling him in a way Connor did not know he needed. And need it he does. Connor raises his hips to meet Hank’s every thrust, driving him deeper, hungering for more.

“Fuck, you’re  _ tight. _ ” 

Connor hooks his legs around Hank’s waist as he raises his hips more and more and they are close now, very close. Hank’s weight bears down on him, his belly pressing against Connor’s cock. The friction is pleasurable, needless to say, and the added weight forces Hank’s dick deeper. 

It’s enough to make Connor’s arms go nearly limp. His body begins to heat to dangerous levels. His mouth hangs open to take in more air, excess coolant dribbling down his chin. It’s so much, too much, almost, and yet - not nearly enough. Connor considers asking Hank to go faster, but already he pounds into Connor at a near-brutal pace, his stamina far greater than Connor expected.

Hank does not spare any of his excess energy to kiss Connor, but as he leans close to his ear, breath hot, he speaks in a low, husky voice.

“Touch yourself.”

This time, Connor is the one that does not need to be told twice.

Connor sneaks a hand between their bodies and grips tight his own cock. It’s pleasurable, but it is the appreciative groan from Hank that sends a spark up Connor’s spine, the imitation muscle in his abdomen and the backs of his legs tightening as heat pools low and deep within him. It’s good, it’s good, and Connor goes to say as much but all that escapes him is guttural moan as his body seizes in a flash of white heat.

The pleasure of it is overwhelming, a tangle of code coursing through his wires as it shocks every sensor in his body. Connor barely registers the spill on his stomach, smearing between them as Hank continues to fuck him open. His timing grows erratic as his cock pulses. It is all Connor can do to hang on as Hank uses him.

Hank pays him no mind. Connor closes his eyes as he loses himself to the sensation. Hank, on top of him, inside of him. He clenches his legs and his ass as tight as he can manage and it does not take long for Hank to snap his hips against Connor, driving himself as deep as he can as he comes. Hank rides out the waves of his orgasm as he continues to fuck Connor, his lips grazing against his ear, taking a deep breath of air as he lets loose his primal yelp:

 

“YEEHAW!”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> When I was but a wee babe, the ghosts of The Three Wise Men cursed my spirit, that every time I might attempt something new, anything serious, I would always present it (and certainly end it) in a non-serious manner. That way, when the low quality of said first attempt was called into question, I could easily deflect by saying 'I-I wasn't being serious!' I'm aware this makes me a bad person, and an even worse writer, but there you have it. Okay bye!


End file.
